Elle
Stassi gets what Stassi wants.
Libuelle looks like it’s dripping in diamonds, although the empire chandeliers aren’t decades old and are made of cheap glass versus crystals. They’re glowing warmly with a muted golden light that bounces beautifully off the metallic trim lining each dark green tray ceiling. It’s so dark that it nearly looks black.
Just like that car that hit me and Madame and Gant…
I blink. Yes, the colours work like a charm to hide the damp marks of the leaky roof. The same goes for the floors. We’d stained the diamond pattern floor planks in dark green, cream, and mahogany to hide the imperfections Hale couldn’t buffer out. Now, all I can see is a beautifully distracting pattern.
I trail the golden wall mouldings and look up at the gleaming brass railings where Hale had three balconies installed above the tall windows. Two dancers in matching corsets to my own but with more bedazzling and lacy black stockings are shimmying back and forth on each. Their take on the nineteen-twenties dance, however, involves more hip movements than shoulder work.
Similarly dressed corseted girls who’d bombarded Hale’s DM’s with offers to work for free in exchange for a party invite, circle the floor with massive trays of the free shots Hale promised with the insane entry fee.
Rich people did rich people shit, but somehow I didn’t think the blue-bloods would pay a thousand a piece just to party with the twins. Yet, due to the fire code, the bouncer had to cut off the nine hundred and one person trying to get in.
I’d severely underestimated the twins’ popularity almost as much as I’d underestimated Hale. I catch him from the corner of my eye now. He’s a few inches taller than the vast majority of the crowd. Even the leggy blondes in custom-made sequin dresses who circle him in six-inch heels barely graze his nose.
But it’s not his height, his pinstripe suit, or his immaculately slicked-back hair that shines with hints of gold beneath the chandeliers that draws me to him just like those girls. It’s his charisma. It’s like watching Gatsby work the floor at one of his parties.
His eyes are sparkling, the corners crinkling with every planned smile, and yet I know not a single one is genuine until his eyes land on his Daisy. Or his Lorelei Lee, seeing as Stassi’s party vision was a collision of a nineteen twenties casino and Marilyn Monroe’s performance of “Diamonds are a Girl's Best Friend” for her grand entrance.
Unlike any random party I’d ever been to, the crowd’s actually eager to follow the dress code. Men I wouldn’t have looked at twice are drawing my eye with their slicked-back hair, tailored suits and cigars that girls in sparkly dresses are taking long draws on…while I watch and serve drinks. No matter the era, I’m still on the outside looking in.
But I shouldn’t be on the outside at all. I should be in the back, washing glasses, prepping trays and staying invisible because, as I scan the wannabe wise guys and mobsters, there’s only one face I’m petrified to see because I know his costume isn’t some act. And I know he’s going to show up. It’s not a matter of if, but when.
Hale insisted that no volunteer could be trusted behind the bar with tabs, and neither could Rie Rie, who still couldn’t figure out the buttons on the card reader. Despite the amazing turnout, money will still be insanely tight for a few months. So tight that I’m watching every ounce of liquor I pour.
It’s asinine to be in the open, but as Hale brutally rubbed in my face, I wanted to be a hands-on stakeholder, so not working for fear of Gant wasn’t an option. And yet it feels like a fucking set-up, one Rin prompted me to go along with for part two of our plan.
I catch another golden glimmer of Hale’s shiny hair beneath the lights, and we make eye contact across the room. He lifts his coupe glass at me before taking a sip with a shit-eating grin, and it all clicks. He wants me in the open. He wants Gant to find me because no matter how mad he is at his horsemen, he doesn’t want any secrets between them. And they always come first. And yet, none of them are here. Not even Stassi and Zedd, whose grand entrance should’ve been an hour ago. I guess they're fashionably late.
“A sidecar,” A pretty Asian girl, one I’d nearly mistaken for Bae given her long, silky locks, calls out to me from across the bar.
Damn, the guests are really into character. Thank goodness I’d gone over popular nineteen-twenties drinks last night, and thank goodness for the free shots that keep my station somewhat manageable.
There’s no way I could stand behind the bar for hours, so Hale bought me a tall rolling bar stool, which surprisingly doesn’t slow me down as I’d thought. I’m about to push off the bar to roll myself to the opposite shelves to grab the ingredients when an annoyingly posh voice stops me.
“Seriously, whose grandmother are you?” some bloke I don’t recognise from the academy asks between puffs of smoke he blows across the bar at Rie Rie.
He must be from Bradley for Boys or Ennox Prep. Even if I didn’t know the cover charge, I’d know he was a ‘someone’ based on the golden ring on his finger. It’s imprinted with a family crest. One I bet most of Beaulieu’s population would be able to recognise, just like the unmarked designer handbags hanging on every girl’s shoulder.
“Not yours,” Rie says, studying him, her coke bottle lenses flashing. “If I’d had children, they’d be cute, and I can tell your parents aren’t.”
He stiffens, blowing another plume into her face. Rie doesn’t cough nor flinch. “Do you know who my parents are?”
“I would’ve said descendants of the Habsburgs dynasty, but they all died out from inbreeding, so I’ll guess cousins? Siblings? From the looks of it.”
The snort that escapes my nose is unstoppable.
“That’s funny? Little Annie,” He asks coolly, taking in my red hair before nodding left to the backrooms. “Won’t be so funny when you’re screaming my name back there in an hour.”
“You’d have to tell me what it was first,” I say, eyeing his precious ring dismissively. “I’ve never heard of you.”
“Let me introduce myself.” He grins. “Daddy Warbucks. Now how much?”
“This isn’t a brothel,” Rie Rie says, unfazed like she’s been through the disrespect a million times before.
“You’re right. That’s Pierrot's.” His smirk broadens. “I just saw Hale’s mother last night. No…this isn’t a brothel, nor a cemetery, yet, here you are.”
“You can order a drink and nothing else,” I grit. “So this is the only time I’m going to ask, what do you want to drink?”
He eyes me again, his gaze dropping to my rolling stool as if finally noticing it. I’m so high up that most people haven’t. He takes in my long skirt that’s hiding my bandaged feet I’ve tucked away in soft flat boots.
“Oh, you’re not Annie. You’re Cinderella, aren’t you? Fuck me. From dancing as Beaulieu’s lead with Gant Auclair to serving with hags. My, how you’ve fallen. Gant made sure of it.”
I straighten my shoulders and ignore the gazes that are zoning in on me.
“Drink,” Rie Rie says. “Or fuck off.”
“Fine,” he says, never taking his eyes off of me. “Your performance that night has inspired me. How about… A Bloody Mary. Or a Carrie? That’s practically what Gant turned you into. Soaking you in all that fucking blood. Since it was your own, I guess it was swine’s blood all the same.”
“I wouldn’t recommend a Carrie. Carolina’s no good. She vomits a little every time she sucks my dick and she makes a horrible skewer. Can’t take it at both ends,” A deep voice says over my shoulder, and I look up at Hale. “Besides, she's your sister, and you want to place that order? I guess nothing will stop your curiosity of wanting a taste. Or to watch…”
The boy’s face flames. “Stay the fuck away from my sister.”
“Stay the fuck away from my grandmother,” Hale snaps with so much vitriol even I recoil.
The boy sucks his teeth, takes another slow drag and disappears but not before Hale whips around the bar and goes after him.
“That was sweet,” I say to Rie, who nods, a confused expression washing over her features.
“But who’s his grandmother?”
“Never mind. I’m sorry, Rie. Teenagers are asses. Turning eighteen makes you legal but not considerate. I would’ve called a guard over, but we only have two tonight.” And I can’t see either one through the thick crowd. Just the pretty girl who asked for the sidecar.
Quickly, I gather the ingredients, and she sashays away a minute later, drink in hand, with a flick of her silky hair.
“A guard, just for that baby brat? You must not be as cultured in these streets as I thought,” Rie Rie sniffs. “Besides, not all kids are horrible. Just look at my Haley and you too. I could almost imagine you were mine, just like Hale if you weren’t lily-white.”
I take in Rie Rie’s rich caramel skin. She’d told me that she was a whole heap of races, and it showed in her ambiguous features. I just know she was an utter knockout working these same floors a few decades ago, and I make a mental note to ask her for a photo later.
“I very well could be yours,” I say, strangely and warmly loving the idea. “And besides, Hale’s white too.”
Rie Rie gives me a look. “Oh, you’ve never been to Pierrot's, have you?”
I shake my head. “Strippers deserve cash for all that ass-shaking. Unfortunately, I can’t spare them a coin.” I glance at the dozens of bottles around us from The Watering Hole and think how just a week ago, I had twenty-seven grand. Then I gaze at the patrons and wonder how much we’ve made back. “But what does going to Pierrot's have to do with Hale being — ”
I never get to finish my question because the double doors of the upper balcony open, letting in a rush of icy air into the warm club and a drop-dead gorgeous Stassi who herself is so damn icy, it almost hurts to look at her.
Her neck is wrapped in so many diamonds that her breasts, pushed to her chin in an emerald corset instead of the worker’s sage green ones, are barely visible. Her gloved wrists look like she’s wearing cuffs from how many diamond bracelets she’s looped around them. Even her feet that slip out from the long hem of her sheer skirt are glittering in the golden lamplight.
A crew of drop-dead gorgeous men in suits surrounds her just as the lights dim and a spotlight flickers on in tune with the musical number that inspired her outfit. The live band below, shaded beneath sparkling umbrellas, can’t pull my attention away from her, though. She’s mouth-watering, breathtaking as she opens her lips, and lyrics as beautiful as she is slip out.
A tinkling sound alerts me to the rafters, where ten men spread above and behind Stassi’s head are slowly pouring something that looks like…rain. Dazzling, glimmering rain. But as the crowd squeals and drops into a crouch, I realise it’s not water. It’s…
“Crystals!”
“Swarovski!”
The tinkling seems endless as Stassi continues belting her notes. I had no idea she could sing, much less sing and dance as she shimmies around the balcony bopping each man’s nose with her fan. But it’s the last man she bops that breaks my concentration because he’s not looking at the blonde I can barely peel my eyes off of. No, he’s glaring down at me, those black pits boring straight through my skull as the song ends.
“Thank you all for coming to my birthday party,” Stassi says, her voice somehow shimmering just as much as the diamonds around her throat.
All at once, hoards of men lift their coupe glasses to toast her.
“We love you, Stassi!”
“I love you too,” Stassi says breathily with a little wave and kiss of her gloved fingers. It’s no wonder these men can’t resist her charm. Well, all but one.
I can’t breathe or move. I’m pinned beneath those black irises that are swirling with a derangeness I almost can’t fathom.
“Just as much as I love this club. Libellule is my favourite new spot. So I hope to see you all here next weekend too. And the week after that. And the week after that,” she teases as a massive gilded cage slides across the ceiling on a rig toward her.
Hale loved the idea of beautiful libellules dancing above the club.
“Are you going to dance for us, Stas?” some bloke screams from below, and Stassi pulls at her sheer skirt that pools around her feet before stepping into the cage.
“It’s what I do best,” she grins as the band erupts into another song.
From this angle, I, and the entire crowd have a magnificent view of her heart-shaped ass devouring the bottom of the corset. It’s so distracting that it nearly stops me from finding him again, but he has my eyes on a wire.
He takes one small, calculated step forward, toward the ledge Stassi just stepped off of. Suddenly, I’m aware of how false my sense of security amongst the vast crowd and across the room is because Gant free-falls over the balcony and grabs the golden chain of Stassi’s cage in tune with her blood-curdling scream because someone else is hanging from the cage too.
Hale.